


Madrugada

by amb-roses (buckshot_lariat)



Series: One Hundred Ways to Say 'I Love You' [2]
Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: 100 Ways to Say I Love You Writing Challenge, Canon-Typical Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Gen, Kayfabe Compliant, Light Angst, M/M, Team Dynamics, Team as Family, ask to tag, except its post injury so maybe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 04:01:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17073092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckshot_lariat/pseuds/amb-roses
Summary: 1. "Pull over. Let me drive for awhile."Roman is the powerhouse, Dean is the brawler, and Seth?Well, Seth's just the Architect.





	Madrugada

**Author's Note:**

> the titles kinda dumb, but i know it as that time between midnight and sunrise so whatever  
> cross posted from the main fic (first work in the series)

The road seems longer than usual that night, dark and spotted with the highway lights and little else as they make their way to their lodgings. An issue in booking had them driving farther than usual after their show, deep into the dark along the longest stretch of interstate Seth's ever seen, the occasional patch of cars interrupting the heavy of the dark morning hours.

Seth didn’t want to admit he was dozing. 

He was the driver, he always drove. He drove with Roman clutching his ribs in the back, with Dean holding ice to his neck or back, with both of them patched precariously together. Seth couldn’t heal them, could only attempt to absorb the blows in the moment, but sometimes he couldn’t make it. Sometimes he couldn’t shield them from harm, so he made himself useful. He drove them to their hotel, navigated them across highway lanes, carried their bags in, led them to the safety of their room. 

He stayed up facing the door, let Dean take his place in the corner of the room or the bathtub when post-match adrenaline sparked his paranoia. He fussed over Roman, helped him wash up when he could barely stand, tucked him in and made sure he was comfortable and warm, prepared him for the day-after, deep seated aches and pains that came with the business they so loved and adored.

Seth couldn’t stop his brothers from being hurt, but he could plan better pre-match, plan and plan, contingency after contingency, every possible outcome, prepare for the post-match injuries and fatigue.

So if it had him staying up a little later each night, a little slower in the morning drag, that was fine. If it had him a little more sore, a little more prominent of a headache, then it was fine, because his brothers would be safer, healthier, happier.

“You never make room for yourself in the plans, dumbass,” is the common complaint. He promises he’ll be better next time and ducks the needle-point stare that follows him. Because he’s gotta be better. Better for them.

Wingman Dean made a point to stay up with him in the passenger seat, humming with Seth’s music despite his earlier complaints as Roman snored quietly behind them, laying sprawled across the backseat. Seth hadn’t fondly watched Dean eye their powerhouse over the hour after leaving, as his words slurred more and more to the point they were replaced with nasal snorts. He hadn’t ducked his head to hide his smile as Dean had loosened his seat belt to reach back and recline the seat, unzipping the suitcase occupying the side spot and pulling a throw blanket to cover him.

It’s forty minutes in when the pain in his back intensifies, a hard tumble from the night's match stiffening his spine, a low groan catching in his throat.

“Hey, y’need to tag out?” Dean asks from his seat and he spares a glance, the road blurring around the edges. He adjusts their trajectory in the lane, straightening them out slightly and giving a stretch that makes his back  _ crack! _ loud in the car.

“Nah, I’m good.”

Seth  _ really  _ didn’t want to admit he was dozing, but he’s forced to when they hit a patch of pavement markers, nearly veering into the next lane. They both jump into sharp awareness from the lull of the early morning, Dean nearly asleep and Seth on his way. Their first concern is Roman, who is in a dead-sleep and only murmurs and shifts under his blanket. Seth can’t dodge Dean’s sharp, narrowed glare as he lines up properly and eases on the gas where they'd begun to slow.

“Rollins. Tag out.”

“I’m fine.” His teeth grit tightly against his pounding headache, shifting under the pressure mounting in the column of his spine.

_ “Rollins.” _ Then softer, gentler, “Seth.  **Pull over. Let me drive for awhile.** You’re exhausted.”

“I gotta get you guys home,” he insists, battle already lost.

“Who’s gonna get  _ you _ home? You’ve been workin’ hard recently.” Seth gave him a sideways glance. “Really. You do everythin’ for us. Give me a chance to pay it back, yeah?”

Seth heaves a sigh but hits the turn signal anyway. “It’s not a debt, Ambrose.”

“Nah,” he can feel Dean’s grin, wide and toothy and chock full of a genuine, soft fondness that only peers from behind his walls when they’re really alone. “It’s just what we do for each other, little brotha’.”

He hesitantly pulls over to an exit and a stop on the side of the road, the taller man giving him an affectionate ruffle as he moves to the passenger seat. Their breaths ghosting the air was the cherry to the sundae of the cool weather that simultaneously punches the air from his lungs and soothes his heated, irritated skin. “Go ahead and lay with Rome. You’re freezing anyway, the man’s a damn heater. Might as well make use of it.”

“You sure? You good alone?” He asks, even as he makes his way to recline the other half of the backseat and the brawler takes the driver’s spot.

He doesn’t catch Dean’s soft reply as they coast back onto the highway, out almost instantly as he tucks under Roman’s blanket and into his sleepy clutch, compress loosely wrapped to his spine.

“I’m perfect.”


End file.
